


The Left Hand Rocks the Cradles

by Yennenga



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2019-10-15 06:33:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17523650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yennenga/pseuds/Yennenga
Summary: A fluff piece about a new pediatric hospital wing leads Iris to a story that could get major recognition for her blog, the Central City Citizen. Meanwhile, Iris and Nora continue to build their relationship.In a later series the chapter retcons the fate of Francine West. I know this is a major departure from how the series handled her character, and it creates a different timeline, but there is a lot worth exploring in Iris and Francine's relationship. This series will also flesh out a character who made an appearance in Season 3 only as a byline -- Julie Greer.





	1. Open House

Barry and Iris had gotten used to having the weekends and Monday mornings at the loft to themselves. Lazy hours spent canoodling under the duvet or scrolling through social feeds. Meandering over coffee and holding hands on the couch. Kissing in the kitchen that turned into ravenous make-out sessions, that went full circle to making love upstairs under the duvet.

Nora had fallen into a routine of returning to the loft on Tuesday evenings with her duffel bag packed for the week, after spending Saturday through Monday nights at Joe and Cecile’s lending a hand with Jenna. But that particular Tuesday morning, Barry and Iris were almost caught unawares. Iris was straddling Barry, who was laid back on the pillows, his knees up and feet flat on the bed, making a backrest for Iris.

“You sure you want to spend early Tuesday morning at some new hospital opening instead of … here with me?” Barry pouted, a tactic that normally wouldn’t work so easily on Iris, except this time his thick brown hair was tousled around his forehead, still flush with an afterglow.

“I am sure I’d rather spend my morning here with you, Barry,” Iris said, leaning over for a quick kiss. And then another. “But we have jobs to get to. The _Central City Citizen_ won’t write itself!”

Iris mustered ambition, willpower, strength – it took all of it – to hop off of Barry and turn toward the bathroom. But in one smooth motion he tugged her back a little, and his warm hand slid to a favorite spot on her thigh.

“Hey, no fair, speedster,” she chided, trying to slip away. “I need a good hour to get ready! Starting with a shower.”

Barry paused, understanding Iris’ plight. Then he made her bargain. If she let him follow her into the shower, he’d flash time them so that she wouldn’t be late.

So it was while enveloped in a swirl of steaming water, the lather of a peppermint shower gel and Barry’s speed aura that they missed the early knock at the front door. The jingle of keys in the lock. The call of ‘Mom? Dad?’ as Nora began to clatter around the kitchen, starting a fresh pot of coffee. But they didn’t miss the aroma of a fresh brew wafting up, or the sound of Nora’s footfalls on the steps. For someone so petite, her footfalls could be heavy at times.

Barry’s eyes widened at the signs that their daughter was on the first landing of the stairs leading to their bedroom. Speeding around their soft lit bathroom, Barry managed to stuff Iris into a fluffy terrycloth bathrobe, pile her springy wet curls up high on her head and twist them into an old T-shirt, and then dive back into his shorts under the duvet.

Iris’ husband had grown beyond speeding away whenever a member of the S.T.A.R. Labs team, Cecile or even Joe walked in on them kissing. But the truth, which Iris hadn’t confessed to Barry yet, was that _she_ had become grateful that Nora had never caught them mid-coitus.

Barry’s whoosh and flashes of light had settled down before Nora reached the top of the stairs and approached their bedroom door. Then came the soft knock.

“Mom?”

Iris came to the door after a couple of moments, glancing at Barry who had turned his back to the door. She caught a glimpse of rare exasperation on his face.

“Hey! Morning Nora!” Iris said brightly, and patted the t-shirt around her freshly co-washed curls. “What’s up? I thought you were going to see your Dad at CCPD this morning?”

“Yeah, that’s still the plan, but …” Nora leaned past Iris to get a glimpse of Barry. “It’s Jenna.”

“What? What’s wrong with Jenna? Is she sick?” Barry turned around and sat up, chorusing with Iris. He flashed in and out of the bathroom, fully dressed in jeans and his favorite blue pullover sweater.

“No, no. It’s not like that,” Nora patted the air with her hands, appeasing her parents. Iris was searching for her phone to call Joe and Cecile while Barry was hopping into his socks. “She’s fine. A little fussy when I was at the park with her yesterday. But … maybe I could fill you in when we have lunch later?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Iris assured her, with Barry now standing behind her. “We still have lunch plans. And since we don’t have a briefing today at STAR Labs, I’ll be in midtown –”

“At the hospital,” Nora pointed. “Right. So I’ll see you then. Sorry for the early morning. I just didn’t want you to get so caught up in covering Central City that you might forget.”

“Not a chance,” Iris smiled. “But I do have to finish getting ready, and typical for this family, I’m the last one.”

Nora launched into a rambling apology, which she cut short by trotting, not speeding, down the stairs to wait for her parents in the kitchen.

=======================================================

Central City Memorial Hospital was always intended to be a small community hospital designed to serve the local neighborhoods of the northeast precincts. But two years ago a group of investors bought out the hospital and began transforming it into “a state-of-the-art city hospital specializing in delivering expert care to children.”

A shiny new children’s hospital. All paid for by visionary investors and generous donors. It all sounded great, but the group’s generosity came on hard terms. On Tuesday morning it took Iris thirty extra minutes to navigate her car around the construction barriers and temporary traffic markers around the new Tenson-Merkel Children’s Medical Center. 

Normally, it would have been simple to take Barry up on his offer to run her there. Years of field CSI work and acting as the city’s guardian had taught Barry which alleyways, mass transit stations and side streets were safe terminuses to leave his wife. He would run her to within two blocks of her destination, and let her walk the rest of the way among other pedestrians.

But not this morning. One week before Christmas, when the streets were frenzied with tourists and shoppers, construction necessitated rerouting traffic around the new hospital wing, affecting the east and west sides of the block. Since spring 2017 this had been going on, almost doubling rush hour drive times and choking local streets with irritated drivers attempting shortcuts. So Iris thought twice, three times, in fact, about Barry whooshing her to a 9:30 a.m. press conference, in the teeth of rush hour when sidewalks would be crowded with pedestrians and commuters. She wouldn’t chance it, even if it meant cocooning inside Barry’s aura with his signature lightning crackling around that barrier. 

She got to the hospital’s new glass and steel pavilion lobby with just five minutes to spare for the start of the press conference, which was later than she had liked. While listening to the formal presentation, Iris scanned the room looking for important people to get quotes from for her story. After the remarks, a guide began walking the group of journalists, donors, hospital staff and other invitees through the newly constructed wing. The space was brightly lit and decorated in a train station motif. A trolley ran along a track that followed a route through the first floor and pop music piped softly through the sound system.

She was busy scribbling a few notes when she felt the air around her shift and she heard someone breathe over her head. It must have been someone taller. His scent was familiar, too. Not cologne or aftershave, and not Barry’s favorite soap, but … the light organic scent of a beard care tonic that her father sometimes used. Iris turned in the direction of the aroma and found herself facing Scott Evans, editor-in-chief of the _Central City Picture News_.

“Hey, stranger!” Scott bent toward Iris and extended a hand. Iris took it, and he immediately closed his long, warm fingers around hers, bobbing their joined hands up and down. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Iris repressed a sigh and simply flashed a bright smile.

“I mean, why wouldn’t I be here?” not wanting to talk over the tour guide or betray her mixed emotions about Scott Evans. “Even ‘citizen journalists’ as you always phrase it, have audiences who want to understand what’s going on in their city.”

Scott adjusted his blazer around his shoulders with a shrug.

“You know, even much larger Web sites run by digital media companies – Vice, Mic.com – even their business are going through rough patches,” he said. “Someone with your talents should just accept that offer on the table from a larger, reputable and profitable paper where she can build on the potential for an awesome career legacy. Instead of chasing followers, likes and shares.”

Scott’s appraisal of Iris’ work at _Central City Citizen_ disrupted her note-taking and almost made her bump into a hospital staffer who had walked by.

“Likes and shares are certainly not the only impact our stories have –”

“Oh, you’re an our, now?” Scott’s voice arched when he dragged out the our until it flopped out of his lips. “Oh yeah. I forgot about the ‘Smart Brown Girls’ podcast. You and Julie Greer.”

Iris could have pointed out that the readership of _Central City Citizen_ was loyal, growing and already digital – an area that the _Picture News_ was struggling to deliver on effectively from day to day. But she didn’t have the energy to have another near-argument with Scott Evans. Lately, Iris noticed that she resented running into Scott as often as she did, because he always found a way to insert vitriol in their conversations, to bite whenever he critiqued her. At times like this, Iris thought more fondly of Mason Bridge who, before he died, was pushing Iris to be a better journalist and even said 'Yeah, you have gumption. We all do. But it takes more than that to build your rolodex and find a story. You're on track, though.' We all do! _We_ , he said. To be included in a respected group of professionals in Iris' chosen field -- it bouyed her almost as much as Barry's unwavering faith.

“Scott, journalists are much more than just writers these days,” she said, standing on her toes slightly to ensure that she could still see the tour guide. “They are – they have to be – comprehensive storytellers who can deliver in whatever medium their audience demands. That’s me. I move with the flow and I’ll guarantee you this -” she pointed the edge of her notebook at his chest “I won’t ever have to worry about where my next byline is coming from or hang all of my value on one gig. I'm glad you're listening to the podcast. Be sure to like and subscribe, too.”

And then she turned away from Scott so hard and fast that a lock of her silky black hair slapped his face, forcing him to lean back and blink away his disbelief as she marched away.


	2. Shedding Light on the Situation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iris makes contact with a metahuman who is unlike any other that she has faced before. Meanwhile, the Central City Citizen is set in motion.

After another 30 minutes, Iris had filled several pages of her notebook with notes and quotes about the new hospital wing. After working this room, and Scott working her nerves, she was ready to wrap up this assignment.

Then the message notification jingled on her phone and re-energized her. It was Barry. Instead of texting a reply, she tapped the redial icon and stole away to a quiet spot near a water fountain.

“Hi Babe. So good to hear your voice,” Iris breathed. “Oh yeah?” she could hear Barry’s face open up into a smile on the other end.

“Of course. You're my sunshine, Babe. You know that,” Iris laughed lightly, then blushed and pushed her hair away from her face. Why was she even doing that? Smiling and blushing with Barry miles away.

“I do my best. So I take it that means your press conference and tour went well?” he said. Iris could hear the clink of heavy glass beakers in the background. A young girl's voice rasped ‘Dad! We don't have enough nitric--’ For a brief moment, Barry was distracted, probably by Nora wanting to ‘help’ him with his backlog of cases. 

“Hang on. Just a second Iris, OK?” Iris gave him gave leave to help their daughter, the time traveler, get situated to begin her first round of analysis and reports for the day. He returned with a sigh. “Just had to get Nora --”

“Situated, yeah, I understand," Iris shrugged. "Listen, you’ll probably need to supervise her, so I’ll let you go --”

“Not so fast, Mrs. West-Allen!” he chided softly. “Catch me up on how things are going. I know you were wondering if Scrat Evans was going to show up …”

“It’s _Scott_ , Barry,” Iris corrected, only half sternly. “And we agreed to take the high road about me having to see him for work every now and then. We're not going to be seventh grade about this, right?”

“Of course not! We’re taking the high road. Completely!” Barry assured so earnestly Iris could feel green eyes widen and his head nod. “I mean, I have no reason to dislike the guy.”

“Good!” Iris nodded. “I mean, it's not like he was a manipulating ex, like certain perky blondes --”

“Yeah, you have a point. But Scrat? An Ex? I wouldn't go that far,” Barry continued. Did he sound a little smug? “He couldn’t even get a second date … and that coffee at Jitters was _technically_ a story meeting, not a first date. I mean, come on. How thirsty do you have to be to mistake a work meeting for ... ”

Just then Iris saw an elegant Black woman with thick salt and pepper hair, cut stylishly short, come into view just 20 feet away.

“Barry, I promise to fill you in when I get to STAR Labs later,” Iris said. “I just spotted Theresa Merkel, and she would be good for the article.”

After Barry signed off with a few endearments, Iris adjusted the strap of her large tote bag over her shoulder and bobbed through the crowd until she reached Theresa Merkel. To her surprise, before she could get a greeting out --

“Mrs. West-Allen. Hello again,” Theresa nodded calmly. “I didn't realize your coverage included the healthcare sector.” Iris and Theresa exchanged greetings, but not too many pleasantries or small talk. Still, there was no awkwardness between them as Iris got straight to her questions.

“Mrs. Merkel, there was a small footnote near the back of the expansion financial report --” Iris said. 

“The financial report?” Theresa was taken aback. “But financials are confidential. How did you obtain …?” 

“Just. Connections, I guess,” Iris shrugged. 

“And incredible resourcefulness!" Theresa said. "Well, continue.”

“It was a $13 milion line item denoted by ‘PM’ …” Iris said. As she talked, Theresa’s mood shifted noticeably, but not toward hostility. She nodded slowly and took a soft, deep breath, and for a brief second Iris registered a very similar feeling to the one she read from Cecile when Jenna had kept her up for much of the night. 

“Yes, well. A $13 million budget item, in my view, was a starting point to address some of the issues that have come to light in Central City recently,” she sighed. “I was not the only hospital board member to realize that many lives have been touched and changed in many ways. More than we can understand.” 

That remark left Iris puzzled, slightly, but before she could ask any more questions, a well-built man, fashionably bald, came along and looked eager to steal Theresa’s attention. Theresa recognized him instantly, as ‘Donovan,’ and excused herself from Iris.

 _‘More than we can understand’_ echoed in Iris’ mind as she shook hands with several more hospital staff members while making her way to the coat rack. Most of the journalists for the city’s two largest newspapers had already fled to their offices to write up what they considered fluff pieces before moving on to meatier articles and compete for front-page coverage. Their hospital items might get boiled down to a full-page story in the tabloid _Picture News_ , or a quick photo story leading the City section of the _Central City Tribune_ , the city’s premiere broadsheet. The phrase was reminiscent of what Barry, or The Flash, then The Streak, had told Iris during their first rendezvous on the Jitters rooftop. As she tried to pry out of him how he could do what he did, he answered _‘There’s more to this than you can understand.’_ Iris had felt slightly challenged by his answer. How did he know what she was capable of understanding and what concepts were beyond her grasp? His answer, almost a dismissal, had fired her curiosity to really dig into who he was. It led Iris to a world of metas. Barry was right when he excitedly drew a dot and then a large orbiting circle on his equation board in his CCPD lab. The particle accelerator had opened an entire field of science that Central City, and the world, were just beginning to explore. 

‘Fully understand.’ Was Theresa Merkel saying that there is a $13 million pediatric meta research facility here? At the children’s hospital?! It was a theory that, if proven to be true, would impact the lives of every citizen of this city, population 1.7 million. A story like that would finally put the _Central City Citizen_ on the map as more than just a “citizen journalist” blog, or “amateur researcher’s” blog or … the “how funny” blog, as Iris had overheard a few hardened career women describe her publication at networking events. Iris pulled her jacket off the coat rack and rushed out of the hospital. She had her own fluff pieces and bigger stories to plan. 

After an easier ride away from the hospital, Iris was energized. She stopped at Jitters and found a quiet, familiar spot so that she could focus. She ordered a chai latte and a small scone, then settled into a favorite spot near one of the tall windows. The winter sun easily reached through bare trees and poured through the uncovered glass windows, warming Iris so much that she had to shake off the duster that she wore over her long-sleeved, wrap silk blouse. She set her phone to 'Do Not Disturb' and opened her laptop. After almost an hour, Iris sat up high in her chair and stretched. She posted a 750-word story to Google Docs for her freelance editor and sometimes writer, Julie Greer, to pick up and review.

========================================================================================

Iris met Julie Greer at a mixer for women entrepreneurs. Iris chatted politely as she worked her way through a room thick with real estate and insurance brokers, apothecaries, women with apparel and cosmetics companies, tech gurus. After an hour, Iris had met only one other person related to her field, and she ran a PR agency. She would make a great intermediary for sources, depending on the story she was working on, but not for the newsy pace of her blog, which she updated almost every day.

__

__

Just as Iris was about to give up and leave, Julie sat next to her, sighed softly and dumped her sweater and calf skin tablet case on her lap.

__

"Dis ain't it," Julie grumbled. "The editorial pickings are slim. I should have hit up Media Cafe instead of chancing it here. Dese people really sent me an invite and dragged me all the way downtown for nuthin'."

__

"Not so great, huh?" Iris greeted her, instinctively trying to brighten the mood. "Are you ... a journalist?"

"Call myself trying to be," Julie said, turning to face Iris fully. Julie had dark skin, and a halo of giant coils, honey highlights around her face. She extended her hand and Iris took it. "My name is Julie. How long have you been in the business?"

"About six years total," Iris told her.

__

"So we both kinda new. But that's three years you have up on me," Julie said. "I came up from the _Keystone Register_ , before they cut back. Man, I thought I did everything right. Got my stuff turned in early, early. I dug in for them scoops, 'cause you know how we do. I even had side hustles proofreading for community papers. But girl! It be brutal out here sometimes."

__

Iris was a little taken aback by Julie's whole presentation, from her accent to her eclectic style to her almost brash manner. Newspapers, depending on their leaning, still tended to be quiet places where writers drifted in beginning at 9:30 a.m. after late nights. They built to a buzz of keyboards clacking, shoes on the floor and phones ringing through deadline. They were open and accessible, but Iris didn't often see other brown- or dark-skinned reporters and editors represented. The personalities ranged from the high-strung to outright oddballs, but none were like Julie. She reeled in her openness occasionally to code switch for a tailor-suited woman walking by, who would exchange polite but shallow smiles with her and Iris. But when she slipped into being comfortable around Iris again, it was her accent that Iris was working to pinpoint. Southern, yes, but where exactly? It seemed to have rural roots, with her gutteral 'r's and the way she sometimes dropped her end consonants. Definitely not Texas. South Carolina? Or maybe Florida.

__

"Yes, it can be," Iris nodded and smiled. "But every now and again you meet someone who gets it. I'm here to make connections myself. I run the _Central City_ \--"

"Citizen!" Julie chimed. "Yeah, I read your stuff. You be on it, and not just about the metas either. See, that's what's cool about you. You know a good story when you see one and you go after it. You not trying to be just the meta expert, or just the fashion expert or just the Hollywood blog. Some of these people out here really want big money and gigs and stuff but they don't know how to do more than one thing."

__

"So where are you from?" Iris asked. "I grew up in Central City, so ... native daughter, I guess."

__

"Gwinnett County, Georgia," Julie chimed in a high-register voice. "My pops is from Mississippi, mother from North Carolina and they came down there to work. Way down there, girl!"

__

They talked for a while longer about what each wanted to do with their careers. Julie said she realized she was a stronger copy editor and proofreader, but that she could handle long-form features pretty well. They decided to connect on social, and after that Iris began sending stories Julie's way for a second pair of eyes to review. For the most part Iris' stories were clean, but Julie had an eye for detail that allowed her to catch awkward phasing or the rare lack of clarity.

__

"You sure you want to keep paying me?" Julie said after looking over six of Iris' stories before publishing. "They don't always need a lot of work. But I'm not complaining. Don't get it twisted!"

__

They have been working together ever since that early spring day. 

========================================================================================

Iris picked up feature stories that a couple of college stringers had turned in: a profile on a tattoo artist, and an organization bidding for a paralympic training camp. Over the next 90 minutes Iris swiftly edited the two stringer’s stories and passed them to Julie for a second read. Then they would be placed in the queue for posting, both to the main Web site and to subscribers’ e-newsletters. Another 30 minutes went by as Iris checked emails: a programmer had sent a link for a sample redesign; Emmet, the commission-only ad sales rep had great news about a ride share service and fashion subscription Website. And then a peculiar message: one from Theresa Merkel. Actually, her executive assistant. Iris leaned closer to her screen and craned her neck, taken aback at the outreach. Just as she had clicked it open and begun to read it, her video chat app intruded.

“MOM!!” Nora’s round face and brown eyes wide with agitation, blocked the message. “Dad and I have been trying to reach you for the past hour. Where are you? What’s going on? Why is you phone going to voicemail??” 

Then Barry’s face slid into the frame, his brows furrowed and his eyes peering into the lens. Iris suppressed a laugh behind her hand. Her adorable nerd husband forgot -- again -- that he couldn't phase through the screen to touch her. 

“I’m sorry, guys,” Iris uncovered her mouth. “Work got away from me a little bit.” 

“Hey, no schr---!” Nora fired back. 

“Nora!” Barry’s stern tone checked Nora’s language, but not her exuberance. 

“Of course, Dad. Sorry Mom." Nora said, glancing back at Barry. “But we have lunch plans, remember? You can’t just go offline for half the morning and not let us know. It’s like Dad says, ‘check in every now and then’.” 

Iris launched into a flurry of apologies. She snapped her laptop shut and collected the pens, notebooks and papers that were fanned out on the table. Just as she stood up and slid into her duster and camel hair coat, Iris heard the sound of a toddler giggling and babbling. She didn’t see a child, but noticed a brownie float off of another patron's plate, who was so distracted by her own phone that she barely noticed the brazen theft. Then, a young woman bustled past Iris' table, looking frantic. The alarm in the woman's face crested when she saw the dessert seemingly float away on its own. The young woman smacked the food away, causing it to hit the floor. She feigned clumsiness and apologized profusely to the woman who was sitting behind the empty plate, slapping a bill down on the table to pay for a replacement. Iris' interest is piqued when she noticed the young woman looking at the front door, as three more customers pushed the door wide open and walk in. The young woman hurriedly followed the swinging door and looked around. Then, thinking that no one had noticed her, she crouched down and appeared to grab thin air with her hand. 

“Barry, Nora, I might be a little late for lunch …” 

“Iris, come on! I haven’t seen you all day,” Barry took over the video chat while Nora was in the background grabbing their jackets. “Is it the blog update? Because you have to be careful not to overwork yourself.” 

“No, no Barry, I’m on to something here,” then Iris lowered her voice to a whisper. “Of the _dark matter_ variety?” 

“Oh! Look, Iris be careful …” 

“I will, I will,” Iris said hurriedly, and began to follow the young woman outside from a safe distance. “Look, Barry I have to follow up on this, but I’ll fill you in when I see you a little later. For lunch. Promise.” 

After a round of “I love yous” Iris dashed off. She followed the young woman down a busy street, which was beginning to thicken with lunchtime crowds. Every now and then the young woman's arm appeared to lift away from her body, tugging her wildly. A couple of times the young woman stopped and looked around her, while Iris hid in a doorway. Finally, the young woman turned at the entrance to a quiet alley, where she crouched down again. She spoke quietly but firmly to _someone_ until the air in front of her shimmered and a small child, about three or four years old, appeared. Iris' eyes widened and she breathed softly "holy crap." The young woman sighed and spoke to the child again, stroking his arm softly. Then she took the child by the hand and they walked to a luxury sedan, where she buckled him into a carseat. Iris stayed out of sight as she watched the mother hand over a juice box. Then she buckled herself in, started the car and pulled away.


	3. Running to Catch Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Speaking of Central City’s finest,” Barry smiled and kissed her cheek. “You look really nice. Such a shame you’re going to be buried with work all night.”
> 
> “I know Babe,” Iris said, dragging out the “o” and “a” into a whiny pout. She took another sip, blinking her eyes. “But who do you think told Caitlin and Cisco to give Nora extended negative tachyon testing this afternoon. I mean, two hours on the speed track?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story continues. I needed to step back and create chapter outlines I would be happy with, and make sure that where I was in the story flowed with how I want the West-Allens' week to go. Also, I couldn't help but bring out more of Barry's intelligence and his love of chasing down "the impossible." Yes, yes, I realize this is only fic based off of a DCTV version of the comic story, but Barry is still that "adorable nerd" that Iris fell in love with, only now he's her husband.

Again, Iris was running late; this time for lunch with Barry and Nora, a consequence of following the toddler metahuman and his mother to their car. Driving seemed to take twice as long as she thought, but at least she got to Speedy's, where Barry and Nora were waiting, without another incident.  
Iris couldn't forget how she found the place: It was an afternoon when, moving around downtown following a story, she felt the familiar flutter in her lower belly that suggested her period was coming on. Speedy’s was the closest and cleanest-looking place that she could find in the search for a restroom. The main dining room was bright and tidy, and as she hurried toward the bathroom, she prayed that it wouldn't be a horror. It turned out to be tidy, with pristine beveled subway tiles, and had a light bleachy, lemony scent permeating the room. After washing her hands she stepped into the dining room, decorated in bright color blocks. It had square oak tables and a row of booths tucked into the rear walls. She ordered a chocolate croissant and an Americano to go, and both left a great impression on her palette. How had she not noticed the place before, since it was a two-block walk from CCPD? Since her quick stop that day, and mentioning to Cecile how much she appreciated a clean restaurant bathroom, it had become a West-Allen-Horton lunch spot, attracting any combination of Barry, Iris, Joe West and Cecile Horton and now, Nora, to refuel during a workday.  
Iris pushed through the front door of Speedy’s and spotted Barry and Nora right away. They were in the mezzanine section overlooking the dining room. She hurried past the dessert case, trotted up the stairs and hurried over to their table. Barry reached her first, greeting her with a wide smile and double kiss.  
Nora smiled up at Barry and Iris, and moved her wristlet out of the way so that Iris could rest her bag on a chair.  
“I’m so sorry, guys!” sighed her apology. “I’ll have to tell you about what I saw after I get some food in me. It was … something new, I can promise you that.” Iris was looking around for a menu, but it turned out to be unnecessary. A waitress brought all of their food, including Iris’ favorite for the place: a grilled eggplant sandwich with their signature stringy onion rings on focaccia bread and a bottle of Pom juice. The waitress handed Nora a roasted chicken breast sandwich and in front of Barry the waitress settled a large lamb burger platter, piled high with lettuce tomato, and pickles. Jumbo onion rings on the side. Once the waitress was out of earshot, Nora explained.  
“Dad ordered for you and asked them to hold all our food until you got here so we could all eat together.”  
“I hope that’s OK?” Barry intoned, pointing at Iris’ plate. “You talk about their eggplant sandwich sometimes, so I figured …”  
“Of course it’s OK!” Iris said. “You know me so well, Babe.” Then Iris lowered her voice and said, “But I know how hungry speedsters get, so you don’t have to feel like you always need to wait --”  
In perfect synchrony, Barry and Nora held up packets of the custom protein bars that Caitlin had formulated for Barry to avert his speedster hypoglycemia.  
“We’re good!” Nora chimed. With that, they began their meals.  
“Popper, how did your day go?” Iris smiled as she poured some Pom juice into her cup. Nora brightened up, then explained that Barry had begun to let her run tests and write reports all on her own and that even though most of the equipment and some of the techniques were obsolete -- Barry and Iris exchanged glances at their daughter’s description of his lab -- it was surprisingly instructive.  
“I’m really understanding things in a much more fundamental way than before,” Nora said. “Using gloves and getting my hands dirty, so to speak, is helping me get much closer to the evidence. But Dad won’t let me sign off on anything at all, because he doesn’t want to raise questions about my identity. Time travel is still theoretical for your generation, Mom, so people wouldn’t believe us if we tried to explain. Plus, Dad has rules about protecting the timeline. He won’t even let me get a CCPD photo building ID!”  
Iris rolled her eyes as she chewed, bemused by Nora’s constant, inadvertent allusions to her and Barry’s “old fashioned ways.”  
“Nora, it’s for the best,” Barry said between bites and resting his sandwich down. “This is something that few people can do, in any generation. It’s a speedster gift, as far as we know. Just observe and don’t interfere, until we can get your ‘negative tachyon’ condition resolved.”  
Nodding earnestly to Barry’s every word, Nora sat back.  
“I promise. I’m just here to learn from my parents,” Nora said and shrugged sheepishly at Iris. “Both of you. Anyway Mom, you probably don’t want to know the horrifying things that are going to happ --”  
“Hey, hey, hey!” Barry made the ‘stop’ sign with his hands, his brows curling into a scowl.  
“In fashion,” Nora recovered. “I swear I was only going to … drag … some of the fashion choices women are resorting to in my era. Like, whew boy! Dignity is still important in your generation, Mom!”  
“I’m … glad to hear that, Popper,” Iris said. Popper. It was Iris’ nickname for Nora, “in this timeline,” as her daughter put it, because Nora had a knack for just whooshing and bouncing in at a moment’s notice, usually with a bright “what’s up?” or “whatcha doing?” and almost always startling people. She hadn’t yet mastered Barry’s precision and quiet grace while stopping, so she shocked Iris at the smoothie bar just down the street from the ‘Citizen’’s co-working office downtown. She popped in and caught Iris at the produce market selecting flowers. She dropped in on Barry and Cisco playing pool. Once, when Cecile was gardening in the backyard, Nora swooped in so hard that the force of her wind drag popped the heads off of two crocuses.  
After a few bites, Barry said he wanted to hear more about the toddler meta. After Iris explained what she saw, Barry leaned back in his chair and took out his phone. He opened a notes app and jotted down a few thoughts.  
“Now this boy, how old do you think he was?” Barry's thumbs paused over the keyboard as he watched Iris for an answer.  
“He might have been three years old? Definitely no older than five.”  
“That's … something else, “ Barry said, sliding the phone back into the table. “I don't think we've ever heard of a meta that young.”  
“Yeah, the youngest we've encountered was Frankie, but she was around … 16?” Iris pulled out her phone to look up the story that she wrote for CCPN on Frankie, AKA, Magenta. “That's after puberty sets in, so …”  
“I guess the onset of meta powers doesn't absolutely hinge on adult blood protein levels, hormonal levels or development of the pituitary gland, like we once thought — or at least that was our theory.” Barry said. “But what’s amazing is that a tiny body has the capacity to contain enough dark matter ---”  
Barry slid a stylus out its slot in his phone and began to scribble notes and draw rough tables in a notes app. Iris noticed that Nora was gazing out the window, fiddling with the drink menu, and poking at her waffle fries, instead of joining her father in puzzling out dark matter equations, like she was accustomed to doing spontaneously at home, at S.T.A.R. Labs, or at Joe's house.  
“Barry …” Iris called out to her husband to get him to refocus on the family lunch date. Already lost in his work, Barry missed several of Iris’ calls until she reached over, covered his hand and shook it. Barry snapped up straight-backed in his chair, and blinked in Iris’ direction a few times before he was fully present. Then she motioned toward Nora and mouthed ‘focus’.  
After a few more moments Iris’ phone started to buzz with a notification. She excused herself and glanced quickly at the screen.  
“This is what I’ve been waiting for!” Iris said. What is it, Barry asked by tilting his head.  
“I asked a contact to get hold of some shipment records for the new children’s wing at the hospital,” Iris said. “I have a theory that if the unit is doing research on meta kids. So I got to thinking … “  
“They would need very specific equipment from very specific research labs,” Barry said, “That fits. So you think you got a hit? Not Mercury Labs, I hope?”  
“No, not STAR Labs’ biggest competitor,” Iris said. “Looks like its Concordia Research. My contact got hold of some of their shipping records and promised to courier them to the loft.”  
“Well, I hope you find out who’s doing that Mom,” Nora said. “It’s hard enough being different. I can’t imagine being a kid and being poked and scanned like that.”  
“Well, I’m doing my best to find out what’s really going on, Nora,” Iris said. “Anyway, right after dinner tonight I will be hunkering down with loads of reading and note taking.”  
Barry’s eyes flitted downward, following the lines of his wife’s graceful neck, the swoop in her clavicle, the swell of her breasts and the curves of her hips. Then he forced a civil grin. Nora looked back and forth between her parents, slightly puzzled, then her phone buzzed.  
“Oh, Mom, Dad I have to go,” she said. “It’s time for my weekly check in with Cisco and Caitlin. My negative tachyonic particle levels are still elevated. And then they want me to run on the speed track for a couple hours after that.”  
“Go,” Barry said. “You only have one case left for today, anyway. And funny thing, Officer Robles casually asked if you would be working on the case. I think she has a favorite CSI ...” Nora stuck her tongue out at Barry. Then she thanked her parents for lunch, kissed them both and jogged briskly down the stairs and out of Speedy’s. Barry breathed deeply and moved closer to Iris, wrapping an arm around her and resting his hand on her thigh.  
“Speaking of Central City’s finest,” Barry smiled and kissed her cheek. “You look really nice. Such a shame you’re going to be buried with work all night.”  
“I know Babe,” Iris said, dragging out the “o” and “a” into a whiny pout. She took another sip, blinking her eyes. “But who do you think told Caitlin and Cisco to give Nora extended negative tachyon testing this afternoon? I mean, _two hours _on the speed track?”__  
“You did what?” Barry pulled back, grinning.  
“And yesterday while I was reporting on how the terrorism task force foiled an attempt to tamper with the Veterans Memorial Bridge, I ran into Captain Singh,” Iris said, as Barry nodded and watched her valentine lips.  
“He somehow walked away from that conversation thinking you will be consulting at S.T.A.R. Labs this afternoon about a meta evidence collecting kit. Sooo …”  
“This is why I love you,” Barry grinned and nuzzled into Iris’ neck. He waved the waitress down with a smile so wide and telling that she didn’t come by their table to offer them a dessert menu. She went to the register right away to ring up their check.  
Traffic was light -- finally -- after lunchtime, and Barry and Iris were back at their building on East Maple Street within 10 minutes. Barry drummed his fingers on his knee as Iris steered the car through the parking concourse, winding down two levels until she swerved into their reserved space. Barry kept his arm around Iris’ waist while they made their way to the elevator and then the lobby level, not letting go until she unlocked their front door.  
It was sunny at that time in the afternoon, and although the afternoon’s light didn’t pour directly through their giant cathedral windows, the loft was still warm and brightly illuminated. Once inside, Barry slid Iris’ red leather tote bag off of her shoulder and threw her keys into the dish by the door. Iris turned around to kiss Barry’s lips, flavored by a mix of bread and mint. The making out ensued right there in the vestibule between the coat rack and the cushioned seat where Iris normally sat to buckle, zip or lace her stylish heels before heading out.  
Iris held Barry’s hands firmly as she led him up the stairs, climbing backward as they kissed. He normally towered over Iris, normally needing to hunch over, unless she strutted around in four-inch heels. But on the stairs like this Barry and Iris were matched almost perfectly, enough for him to talk close to her ear with ease. He wanted to know how his wife, normally the steady one between them, had cooked up this midday tryst without him being the wiser. Not that he was complaining.  
“We’re switching things up now, Mrs. Allen?” he said releasing her hands to slide his around her waist.  
“We are,” Iris smiled. “You’re not the only one who can pull off surprises.”  
“I like that. What else you got for me?” Barry’s breath was like a hot wind howling past Iris’ ears. That, and him taking the time to grasp a handful of her long, wavy hair in one hand and fill the other with her bottom made her grip the banister to maintain her balance. His rapid heartbeat against hers, probing kisses and warm hands -- Barry’s speedster body temperature ran warmer than that of any other boyfriend, or tenth date, she could remember -- all made her forget his question.  
“What did you say?” Iris returned Barry’s kisses with near-equal urgency.  
“What else are we doing, Iris?”  
By now Iris’ own heartbeat was hammering in her ear and her skin was becoming electrified off of her husband’s excited state.  
“Handcuffs,” she managed. “There’s a pair of metacuffs in my nightstand. For you.”  
That filled Barry with an urgent intensity, and they made love in the first round off of that energy. Barry hiked Iris’ skirt up around her waist, virtually spirited her panties away and hoisted himself into her, spreading her between the wall and a chest of drawers reserved for his stuff. Iris grabbed it to steady herself, to flex the walls of her pink enough to hold onto him but their exertions, mostly Barry’s, sent an array of items clattering across the top of the furniture and crashing to the floor: Barry’s hair brush, some spare change, his flash ring box, and a few of Iris’ belongings that sought refuge from her crowded vanity table.  
In the second round they made time for foreplay. They dropped onto the bed, kissed and undressed each other slowly, until Iris straddled Barry and slid out the top drawer of her nightstand. She picked up the metacuffs and pressed the power button, lighting up a row of four tiny LED lights.  
“Good, they’re still charged,” she said, clicking them around Barry’s thick wrists. “You’ll have to leave everything to me, this time, Barry Allen.” Barry’s style had been marked by ardent fervor, but Iris decided to take her time with her husband. Barry lived with his electric speedster sensations coursing through his body every day. He didn’t always bring his heightened feelings into their lovemaking; most nights he didn’t. Iris’ husband usually made her crumble and fall apart with his considerate and meticulous style. But there were times when he was pure, graceful fervor and overwhelmed Iris. Her noises and cries then sometimes reverberated down the hall and through their living room floor. Barry thought nothing of it, but more than once his wife offered unsolicited and self-conscious explanations -- lies -- to neighbors who smirked their ‘good morning’ greetings in the elevator or the lobby.  
‘Moving furniture.’  
‘Broke a lamp. A shame, too. It was from West Elm??’ she called after an elegant woman walking her standard poodle. After one particular night when she was sure Barry’s energy would shatter her from the inside, they shared the elevator with a couple of roommates who kept eyeing her and Barry, exchanging glances and barely containing scandalous grins. Iris finally whipped around and snapped ‘WHAT???’  
“We’re not mad, sis. Does Barry have a brother?”  
They glided into a position where Iris felt full and comfortable, a rhythm that she controlled until they got to a pace and timing that was right for both of them.  
After a couple of hours, Iris was still in bed, sated but not tired, listening to Barry shower. He was getting ready for another few hours wrapping up at CCPD and then he would really stop at S.T.A.R. Labs to check in with Nora and Cisco. In 10 minutes, he was dressed and ready to go.  
“Ready, Mr. Allen?” Iris said cheerfully from her side of the bed. She casually inspected her nail polish, but as Barry scanned the image of Iris, her slim figure outlined by the sheet covering her, long black hair splayed all over her silk pillowcase, and sparkly dark eyes smiling up at him, he found it difficult to mirror her nonchalance.  
So he focused on lacing up his sneakers.  
“Almost,” he tugged the strings tight. Then he picked up his Flash ring and slid it onto his right middle finger. Iris rolled over and sat up, sliding her arms into a brown silk robe before she had to start her own process of getting ready for the rest of the day. Barry tucked his hands in his pockets, then waited for her to stand up. After she did, he wrapped his arms around her waist and rested his hands on the small of her back, double kissing her goodbye.  
“I’ll see you later,” he said. “When I get back I’ll have the whipper snapper with me.”  
“Okay,” Iris smiled. “I’ll be downtown picking up that delivery to the office.”  
“And then start your second shift,” Barry corrected. “I heard your plans to cozy up with … stacks of paper and shipping records tonight.”  
“Hey, if I’ve got to share you with equations, your two labs and your home office …,” Iris chided sweetly, until Barry pouted. “I’ll make sure I come tuck you in. I love you.”  
“I love you.”  
Then Barry slipped away slowly, kissing her forehead, and looked back once. No speeding, no whooshing away. He just jogged down the stairs and quietly clicked the front door shut.


	4. And Paul Makes Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iris pursues the story on the new hospital wing. While getting comment from an influential source, she finds much more than what she originally bargained for.

The Allen loft wasn’t full of cheery people that Wednesday morning. Having only gotten a handful of hours of sleep, Iris was relying heavily on an Americano with an extra shot to get her through the morning. On top of that her source called her, urgently asking to move up her onsite hospital visit.  
“No, of course that isn’t a problem,” Iris said, hurriedly packing her totebag while Barry prepped her travel coffee mug and Nora whisked by with a quick ‘morning, Mom’. “I’ll see you there in … 30 minutes.”  
Actually, the switch flipped Iris’ morning itinerary upside down. Wednesdays had been set aside as briefing days at S.T.A.R. Labs, events that were a study in contrasts. The topics were always serious, a meta-human threat bearing down on Central City, while the mood in the room was optimistic, casual and sometimes bouyant.  
Thirty minutes later, Iris met her source, Brooke Neilan, at the hospital, but not at the front desk. Following Brooke’s suggestion, Iris parked offsite and then met her at a back entrance to one of the auxiliary buildings. Brook shook Iris’ hand and apologized for the cloak and dagger routine.  
“I didn’t have full clearance to get you in, and –”  
“Full clearance?”  
“Actually, this is a completely unauthorized visit,” Brooke said, which intrigued and took Iris aback. “My boss was supposed to work early this morning, and would have left us with early afternoon. But she got called away and so we have to do this now.”  
Brooke explained all of this as she led Iris through a complex path to the new hospital wing. But the payoff was huge. Brooke pulled her glossy auburn hair into a high ponytail and showed Iris their department’s supply receiving and storage area. Iris recognized some of the equipment and chemicals, due to visits to Barry’s lab at CCPD, and some others at S.T.A.R. Labs. The items raised several heavy questions. What, for instance, would a new pediatric wing need with thermometer-looking instruments that took dark matter readings, or NICU bassinets fitted with dampeners? The list of chemicals alone was startling.  
“Brooke, this goes beyond any hospital equipment I’ve ever seen,” Iris said, sitting into a chair across from Brooke in an office after the exclusive tour. “Not that I’m an expert.”  
On the way to an actual patient floor, Brook agreed, saying they are not an ordinary hospital wing. She opened a series of doors until they got to her office, where she offered Iris a seat. Brook then opened a locked drawer and slid an envelope across the desk to Iris.  
“Well, take a look at this,” she said. “It’s a copy of a visitor log going back nine months, long before the wing opened or we began seeing our ‘special client’ patients.”  
Iris opened the envelope and slid out a stack of sheets stapled together. The log read like a dream team lineup of doctors and researchers, a substantial number of them outside of Central City, and some foreign, attached to major hospotals around the country. Iris recognized some from places like Concordance Research, after meeting them at events she attended with Barry. One neurosurgeon had attended streaming conferences with Barry at STAR Labs. In particular, one name stopped Iris’ scanning.  
“Brooke, I recognize this doctor,” Iris pointed. “Elizabeth Mansfield? She’s … my gynecologist. But your patients are pretty young here. Why on earth would she be seeing –”  
A series of crashing noises, an agonized scream and a “Paul, no!” interrupted them.  
“Oh my God!” Brooke sprang up and dashed through the door. Speedsters weren’t the only ones with fast reflexes. “Stay here, Mrs. Allen! Please. For both our sakes!”  
Ha!  
Iris went to the door, not wanting to give her presence away, and watched Brooke as the chaos took place. A man in a lab coat lay injured and writhing in pain. Metal trays were scattered, their contents splayed all over the floor. Iris gasped as she saw a little boy, about eight years old, throw one arm out in front of him, stretch it and stick his hand firmly to the wall where he touched it. Across the room. Then he snapped the rest of his body back to meet that hand. He did this in a panic over and over, wall to wall, ceiling to floor. He evaded doctors, assistants and orderlies who tried to calm him down.  
“Paul, you are perfectly safe here, remember?” Brooke pleaded. “Please. Do you want your parents to come back and see you upset? They are coming to see you today, we promise. Just let us –”  
“I don’t like the needles!” he screamed. “I want my dad!”  
This child meta was no brownie thief. He was bigger, stronger and unlike the power tyke she saw in Jitters, terrified. Brooke scrambled to a cabinet and pulled out what looked like a pistol syringe. What was she going to do?? Then Brooke took aim at Paul and fired one shot. If it was a needle Iris couldn’t tell. But something settled over Paul and gently put him under. A few of the medical staff crowded around Paul to catch him as his grip on the wall loosened. He fell, drifted really, into the arms of a staffer who carried him carefully to a gurney and settled him on it.  
“Is he going to be alright??” Iris asked when Brook came back to the office. “What did you give him?”  
“When his father gets here, he will be perfectly fine,” Brooke said, relieved. “And that was a very mild sedative. The parents give us authorization for different kinds, depending on their children’s … abilities and emotional state when their powers activate. But we don’t give anything stronger than that, I promise.”  
Iris was scribbling away and looked skeptical.  
“Look, Mrs. Allen, I know who your husband is,” Brooke said. “You can give him the list of chemicals we have and he won’t find anything dangerous to the kids, I promise. It was a vow we made when we set this place up.”  
Paul never went under fully. He was still tossing and mumbling on the gurney as the orderly wheeled him out of sight. Brooke said he was being brought back to his room, and his father was on the way. Iris asserted that she couldn’t ignore, for the story, what she had just seen and that she wanted permission to speak to the boy and his family. Brooke was skeptical and wanted to end Iris’ visit, but Iris then shared what she saw at Jitters the previous day.  
“Brooke, that poor mother looked like she was at her wit’s end,” Iris said. “Like she didn’t know how to handle her son on her own. Something is happening to Central City’s children, and to their parents and families. All I want to do is get the best information out there to other parents so that they know they have a lifeline.”  
Brooke countered, saying that the unit hadn’t figured out all the answers yet, and didn’t want to get overrun with cases or give parents false hope.  
“I understand all of that,” Iris said. “But it’s a start. Parents should know that someone is doing their best to think this through. And you called me here for a reason. How can I speak to parents _through_ my story and not have a parent’s voice in the story?”  
Thirty minutes later Paul’s father raced into the unit, his clothes wrinked and his face freshly shaved, but looking ashen and depleted. Iris waited until he had conferred with nurses and doctors, had visited his son and was by himself getting a drink of water before approaching him.  
“Tough morning?” Iris said, sitting down next to him.  
“Yeah,” he said, rubbing his face. “It’s getting to be the new normal. Tough morning. Tough afternoon. Tough nights with no sleep.”  
“I get it,” Iris said. “This has happened to a lot of people in Central City. Including a few of my sources.”  
Paul’s father began to explain how and when his son began to exhibit his abilities, and what it did to his friendships in the neighborhood and at their church. Iris shared that she had only met one other young meta, Frankie.  
“Well, I’m glad she ran into you, then.” Mr. Ross said, filling up his cup with more water. “What do you do here? I saw you speaking to Brooke. Are you a clinical psychologist, too?”  
“My name is Iris West-Allen,” Iris extended her hand carefully. “And I’m the editor of the _Central City Citizen_ – ”  
“Listen, ma’am,” the father tightened up quickly. “We’re not interested in being splashed all over the news, like our son is a freak.”  
“No, no! Of course he isn’t –” Iris explained to Mr. Ross that her article was going to be about the new hospital wing, that him sharing his family’s story might offer hope to other families experiencing the same changes in their children, and that she wouldn’t publish anything without his consent. The father wasn’t forthcoming at first, but then Iris tried to find common ground with him. Without giving away anything about her situation, she worked in the hypotheticals and explained what her own anxieties might be as a mother to a child with extraordinary abilities.  
“Let me just say, Mr. Ross,” Iris said. “It’s hard enough to be a parent. A single parent. I can only imagine what mothers, fathers, grandparent and anyone else who loves the kids in their lives are worried about. I’m not an expert, but I am here to look out for them as best I can.”  
By the time Iris left the hospital, Brooke said she would break the news about her visit to her boss. Iris couldn’t speak to Paul, because he was groggy, but Mr. Ross had given a statement that filled four notebook sheets, front and back.  
As soon as Iris turned in her visitor badge, her phone began chiming and Francine’s ID and face flashed on her screen.  
“Mom!” she sang cheerfully.  
“How is my favorite news magnate?”  
“Momma, you have to stop calling me that,” Iris demured. “But – I’m glad that you called, of course. How was Montreal and when do you leave?”  
“A dix heurs, cherie,” Francine flourished, punctuated by the sound of suitcases tumbling. “The train is boarding now, and we should get into Central City in about 14 hours.”  
Iris’ stomach clenched a little when Francine said “we,” referring to a “gentleman friend” that she had been seeing for the past eight months. The relationship was much newer than Joe and Cecile’s, who were settled in Joe’s house with a new baby. It seemed like Francine’s relationships were always new.  
“So Evan is with you?” Iris made her way to the parking garage to get to her level.  
“Well, yes, Baby, he met me in Montreal after he finished a business trip, remember?” Francine intoned a reminder that Iris was having trouble holding onto. Not that Evan wasn’t nice. But Iris wondered how long he would last. “And you might remember that Barry and I talked about this. About Evan joining us for Christmas. So, yeah … here we are, together.”  
Iris listened to Francine describe the art galleries and restaurants of the city. Francine ran a small, but well-respected art gallery herself in Mount Felipe, an upscale suburb outside of Central City. Her work was fulfilling and often took her on excursions out of town to see new artists, like the trip to Montreal. Evan had walked into her gallery a year ago to find a classy piece for the great room of his main house. After his purchase, it took him four months of wooing and transparent excuses to run into Francine before she agreed to get coffee.  
“And Iris, I found the most quaint little book shop,” Francine said. “You would have loved it. Straight out of a romantic movie set in Paris or something. And I picked up a copy of ‘ _To Abbie_ ,’ for you because you mentioned it the last time we talked.”  
They talked as Iris clamped her phone into the hands-free holster on the dash, and during the drive to the co-working space where she had set up _Central City Citizen_ ’s temporary office. They said their goodbyes just after Iris opened the door to her office.  
“Hey bawse lady,” Julie chirped from her desk.  
“Hi Julie,” Iris said, then ‘wowed’ looking around the office. They had a dedicated space behind a wall of frosted glass panes and a glass door. It was a large square room, with the exception of a wall with a recess where they fit a small sofa, a bistro table and a bookshelf. It had a large window that looked out on the southern end of downtown Central City.  
The natural lighting gleamed and beamed through Julie’s hair, which she styled half up with a curly puff out at the back. In fact, Julie added a lot to daily life at the Citizen, including ‘Solstice-Christmas’ decorations, as she sometimes liked to say.  
They chatted about her morning at the hospital and how it would be Iris’ main focus for the day. It is also mentioned that she needed to make an important call to Barry. She didn’t feel like trekking to STAR Labs for the briefing, which Barry insisted on delaying so that she could tell the team what she saw first-hand. And so that he could organize some CSI case files.  
Tracking down a story out in the city like she did this morning had energized Iris, and honestly, so did the daily sounds of the _Citizen_ churning out news. On most days it was just her and Julie, and she loved the noise of their office. Their story strategy meetings, Julie following up with writers with questions. Julie kissing her teeth and making threats at the content management system – which she was actually better at managing than she gave herself credit for. Perfectionists, Iris shook her head to herself. Other days a stringer might drift in mid-transit to say hello to their fledgling team, always surprised that Iris and Julie managed to machine out so much good content for the _Citizen_.  
Today, an important story for the _Citizen_ and briefing day at STAR Labs created a superstorm of work, for which she would need lots of ---  
“You want coffee, right?” Julie said. “And you also have that look on your face when you need to speak to Barry. Or …”  
“Or?”  
“It’s more like he needs to speak to you,” Julie said, lifting her jacket off of the coat hook setup by the door. “No problem, then. I can make a quick run to the Java Cave, and give you some time, OK?”  
“Thank you, Julie,” Iris said, puling a $20 out of her wallet. “I’ll try not to let it run overtime. And get yourself something.”  
“Girl, you already know I’m getting you a cronut and hibicus frosted doughnut for me!”  
**As soon as Iris heard Julie’s heels clack safely in the distance** , she opened her laptop and started the video call. Soon everyone at STAR Labs could see Iris’ face on one of the screens on the wall, and she could see them. Barry updated everyone on the transfer of the last of the pipeline’s meta-human prisoners to Iron Heights Correctional Complex, plus building and equipping a new cell block with dark matter detection and power dampeners.  
Then Iris started her section about the meta child she observed at Jitters. She opened her notepad and began reciting, clearly but almost mechanically, what she observed about the young meta-human in Jitters.  
“So as far as we can tell, guys,” Barry said, “this child is no more than …”  
“Three, maybe four years old,” Iris said, shaking her head. “I can’t imagine what it must be like for that mom. Him not in control of his powers, and her, well, not knowing what to expect next.”  
Barry and Nora shot Iris a quick look, before Barry continued.  
“So guys, what we have to figure out is, what class of powers the boy has,” Barry said. “We know that there are powers to control areas of physics, like speed. There’s metas who can to manipulate states of matter like The Mist, ones with transmutation abilities, like Girder, and those with atmospheric powers like Weather Wizard and … Frost.”  
Cisco noted that the boy was retaining his mass, since he was picking up brownies and pushing doors open, so his body itself didn’t disappear.  
“That might mean his invisibility comes from a phenomenon where he can bend and refract light around him, so it just looks like he’s disappeared,” Cisco said.  
“We would need some kind of skin cell sample if we could get it,” Caitlin said. “I wonder if we could try to …”  
“Do you guys hear yourselves?” Nora finally spoke, shaking her head. “You’re talking about classifying him and getting skin samples and how awful being his mother must be for his mom.”  
“Nora, we didn’t mean it like that,” Iris said. “I didn’t mean … It’s just that this is all new and it might be overwhelming for everyone. He’s so young and I’m not sure we’ve encountered an invisibility meta before …”  
“But he’s not a menace, like the other metas that STAR Labs handles,” Nora persisted. “He isn’t a con man, or attacking anyone or robbing banks. Why is STAR Labs even involved, if he’s just a harmless kid in a café?”  
“Harmless? Look, tell that to the lady who was the victim of brownie theft,” Cisco said. “Jitter charges real dollars for those things.”  
“Hey, Cisco,” Caitlin and Iris chided, to which he raised his hands in surrender and turned around in his chair to face a monitor and keyboard. “Barry, uh, why don’t you sync over that table you were drawing up, so I can import the data?”  
Barry pulled out his cell phone, found the rough data and formula he created yesterday and swiped up to beam it to Cisco’s console.  
“OK. You should have it,” Barry said. “Look, Nora’s right. We need to do what we can to monitor … his family … from afar!” He raised a hand to settle Nora down, who became alarmed at the word ‘monitor.’ “We won’t go looking for him or make any moves until something else happens, or his family comes to us for help.”  
Iris pulled up closer to her monitor.  
“We just want to help, Nora, if that’s what his mom and maybe his dad want,” she said.  
Nora nodded, and said she actually had to get back to her shift at CCPD. Barry and Iris nodded, to which Nora said her ‘I love yous’ and sped away.  
Cisco and Caitlin went back to their projects, while Barry transferred the call to his phone.  
“So, someone took exception to us unraveling the mystery of the meta-tyke,” Iris said.  
“Yeah, I guess we are still getting used to Nora being right there when we rattle on about this stuff,” Barry said, walking over to a mini fridge and taking out a bottle of lemon-lime seltzer water. “I didn’t think she would take it so hard.”  
“Well, we have to talk about what this means,” Iris said. “Central City hasn’t seen many kid metas. The youngest, I think, was Frankie and she was already sixteen. And a little scared of her powers. Can you imagine what it would be like for meta toddlers running around this city?”  
“It would be a challenge,” Barry said. “The young and gifted don’t always know how to measure out their powers. And kids are so full of energy and wanting what they want. Instead of jewelry store robberies, there would be brownie and toy thefts everywhere.”  
“Barry,” Iris rolled here eyes while playing with the pages of one of the journals. “But .. did I … sound like I resented the thought of having a child with meta powers …?”  
“No, no. Of course you didn’t,” Barry said, coming close to Iris. “Look, sometimes we metas forget what life is like … for the Muggles. I didn’t pick up any negative feelings from you about having a meta child. You were just expressing some feelings about what it might be like to handle it all. And your feelings are legit.”  
“I wish you were here,” Iris said, resting her cheek on her right shoulder. Barry perked up before Iris could even blink. While there was no ‘whoosh,’ no papers flying and no lightning, within a few seconds she got a call from the front desk in the common lobby that she had a visitor. When she went to meet Barry, his smile spread instantly, and he wrapped an arm around her shoulder. In minutes, they were inside her office, and he was holding her around the waist.  
“Well I can accommodate that,” Barry grinned.  
“But what we were talking about before, is important. Barry, that day is going to come,” Iris said. “Are we remotely ready to … handle a meta pregnancy, labor, and the speed powers on top of the lack of sleep …?”  
“Hey, hey,” Barry soothed Iris. “You don’t have to worry about how we’re going to handle everything that comes our way. I bet you’ll have a quick labor, because she’ll run out.”  
“Barry …”  
“Put a power dampener in her stroller, so she doesn’t run off at the park and give us away.”  
“Come on!” Iris said. “We have to be serious about this at some point.”  
“I am being serious,” Barry said. “Let’s talk about a real plan for your pregnancy and labor. Caitlin delivered Jenna, so she has experience. We can ask her to be involved.”  
Iris could barely control the grimace that crept over her face. Cecile had planned to go to the hospital and see her own trusted doctor for Jenna’s birth. It all went sideways and she ended up in labor at S.T.A.R. Labs as a madman launched a global apocalypse known as The Enlightenment. Not exactly an ideal setting for childbirth. Aside from that, Iris also thought back to the last time that she was on a gurney at S.T.A.R. Labs. She remembered how her body could barely contain the painful spasms that convulsed body as Clive Yorkin’s touch spread decay through her arm. The pain and the panic stressed her heart. She couldn’t forget the sight of Caitlin equivocating as Barry, her father, Cisco and Julian pleaded with her to intervene. Even while the convulsions overtook her, she couldn’t forget the sounds of that cold meta hovering over her. The things she said, the jokes she made.  
“Barry,” Iris shook her head and pushed herself out of his arms. “I’ve had the same gynecologist since I was 18. That means something to me. Doctor Mansfield has seen me through everything, and to go through Nora’s birth without her … I just wouldn’t feel comfortable.”  
After defeating Savitar and before the wedding planning got underway in earnest, Iris suffered from anxiety and fitful sleep for months. She functioned perfectly well during work hours. She built a large and loyal following for, and eventually monetized, her blog, and she freelanced for the larger newspapers and magazines that paid decently. She held it together during the times when they pursued meta-human threats. Nothing, though, could help Iris sleep through the night – not warm milk, chamomile tea and especially not the getaway to New York City to shop, visit spas and see Hamilton. Iris eventually tried yoga and meditation to put the trauma of Caitlin’s betrayal in a context that wouldn’t stress her out at night and make her feel unsafe. Finally, gradually, she began to sleep through the night again.  
“So!” Iris clapped out her final point. “I need Dr. Mansfield to be brought up to speed about my … potential high-risk pregnancy and I want her to coordinate my care.” She rattled off a plan a midwife to be in charge, Dr. Mansfield on hand, and I’ll need my mother there to hold my hand. I can’t have any bad memories in that room with me and the baby, Barry. When that day comes,”  
Barry agreed to everything Iris said.  
“I like that plan,” Barry said, hugging Iris closer. “When that day comes.”  
“I’ve got a lot of writing and one or two more interviews ahead of me today, anyway,” Iris said.  
She leaned up to kiss Barry, and almost didn’t hear the sound of Julie’s heels in the hallway. There was no time for Barry to speed away, so he simply stayed and they switched the subject.  
“And um, I spoke to my mom this morning,” Iris said.  
“Oh yeah?”  
Then Julie pushed the door open, only mildly surprised to see Barry.  
“Oh, hey, Barry!” She said, slipping off her jacket. Barry told Iris to fill him in about her call with Francine later, then amiably smiled at Julie on his way out.  
“Hey Julie,” Barry leaned his long frame toward her as she unloaded the hot drinks. “Make sure she doesn’t overwork herself today.”  
“More like, I’ll get out of her way while she does her thing, but I will make sure she eats,” Julie nodded. Barry conceded and bowed on his way out. Then Julie turned to Iris. “I told you he needs to actually speak to you. New item on the to-do list: Find you a man like Barry Allen who can’t get through the day without physically checking on you.”  
Iris smiled and demurred, clicked off the video call app and thanked Julie. She picked up her coffee from the cup tray.  
“A few more calls, and then I can think about lunch,” Iris said. A few more calls turned into a dozen or so. Iris paced the room as one person after another either declined to comment, or would only give her a minute or two of their time. One of those calls, however, landed with a senior researcher at Concordance Research, one whom she had met at an event with Barry. They had a 20-minute conversation about Iris’ findings, during which she confirmed Iris’ theories about the standard industry uses for the equipment and the chemicals.  
The rest of the evening was a blur. Julie ordered lunch from a favorite sandwich shop and they worked through the rest of the afternoon. Iris was so tired by the time she drove home that she struggled to change into black jeggings, a loose knit shirt and fuzzy socks. She keep her eyes open after dinner through sheer determination to connect with her family. But she crashed when she settled into Barry’s lap and leaned on his warm, buzzy chest while he did his customary speed reading on his iPad, a stack of newspapers from around the country, and binged season one of Krypton. The room fuzzed out with the sensation of Barry’s heartbeat and his arms swaddling her. The last thing she saw before she drifted into blackness was Nora, her fluffy socked feet propped up on the coffee table and scrolling indifferently through her phone as her father’s show flashed on the screen. Iris meant to speak to Nora about her feelings on the little boy from Jitters, and she wanted to know how she would she react to what Iris saw happen with Paul at the hospital. Maybe tomorrow … 

Tomorrow’s talk with Nora didn’t happen. Nora left the loft early for CCPD, and Iris went to the gym at S.T.A.R. Labs, and from there to the _Citizen_. She went over business matters with Dennis, who landed enough ad sales to extend their funding for another quarter, and wanted to talk to her about affiliate marketing agreements on their lifestyle stories. Then Iris took care of freelancer invoices and discussed the day’s story and editing lineup with Julie. The same grind every day, which she loved. She settled into fact-checking and emailing follow-up questions to sources for clarity on the new pediatric wing. The story just needed a final touch: a comment from a hospital administrator or someone on an even higher level. Theresa Merkel. And before Iris could pick up the phone to call Merkel’s assistant, her office phone rang with that very number on the caller ID.  
“Ms. West?” Eliza greeted her warmly. “I’m glad to finally get a hold of you! Running a news Web site keeps you very busy.”  
“Yes, it does, Eliza,” Iris said. “Is this about a lunch with Ms. Merkel? I know you have been trying to set one up.”  
“Well, would you have room on your schedule today?” Eliza asked. “I know that sounds like short notice, but Ms. Merkel is traveling to Chicago for a few days and when she gets back she will have Christmas and holiday season parties to host.”  
They agreed to meet for lunch, a late lunch, in a couple of hours. In the meantime Iris pulled out her phone and called Nora. She had to adjust her frame of mind and tone, to avoid sounding like such a mom to a young woman who looked like a Millennial. ‘Speedster families,’ Iris mumbled to herself as she hit the call icon. Julie pulled a face and Iris waved her off.  
“Nora! Hey, girl,” Iris said, leaning back in her chair a bit. “You didn’t … wait for me this morning. I went to the gym without you.” Nora sighed, though good-naturedly.  
“Is Julie there, mom?” Nora shook her head. “You’re forcing a Blaccent.”  
“I am not! Why would I do that?” Iris sat up, offended. She glanced over at Julie, who had clamped on noise-dampening headphones. Iris could see a podcast preview pane on her monitor as her fingers flew across the keyboard, inputting changes.  
“Because you’re a mom, no matter what, and Grandpa raised you in Central City, not Freeland down the street from Miss Anessa,” Nora quipped. Damned kids.  
“Ok, Ok, that’s … really enough,” Iris straightened her blouse sleeve. “I’m calling to check on you because you seemed upset about yesterday.”  
“It’s … fine, Mom,” Nora said. “I know that you didn’t mean what you said in a terrible way.”  
“Nora, this story that is coming out,” Iris continued, glancing at Julie. “Some things are going to be in it that might upset you, but I want you to know that I think the piece will do a lot of good.”  
“Mom, I kind of know what you write, already, remember?”  
“Oh! Right,” Iris remembered. There was a little silence, and then not knowing why she asked, Iris wait meekly, “Kind of?”  
“I don’t retain every single thing, as you can tell from the state of my room, despite you asking me to pick up,” Nora half-confessed. “And … I have read a bit more about Dad’s early career than … your early career.”  
“Oh …”  
“But, that doesn’t mean you can’t tell me,” Nora hurriedly said and then began to explain herself more full, even if she halted a bit. “I want to know how your day was. It shouldn’t ... disrupt the timeline if you do.”  
They talked for a little while longer, then disconnected. After a few more emails and texts, Iris got a calendar notification: schedule appointment with Dr. Mansfield. She sighed and let the phone rest in her lap, thinking about new questions she would have for the doctor whom she wanted to deliver her child. Her meta child. By the looks of things, Nora got through the birth healthy and normal. But Iris still didn’t know what the toll might be on her body and how her future self would deal with it. Iris didn’t notice Julie pick up the phone on her desk and then head to the window.  
“I can-not!” Julie gawked out the window.  
“What is it?” Iris asked, snatching up pens and sliding a notebook into her bag.  
“When you said Theresa Merkel was sending a car for you, I thought she meant Uber,” Julie said. Iris went to the window and looked across the street, where a black Mercedes was parked and waiting for her.  
“You need to wear your Mac Rebel,” Julie said. “Level up to that car, the restaurant and Miss Black Cotillion Class of 1975 in all her glory. You came to do business and you have a reputation.”  
“Oh yeah?” Iris looked up from her compact where she was dabbing her T-zone with a blotting paper.  
“Absolutely!” Julie said, picking up her editing again. “People know that when you come calling, you already have your facts and research. The only thing they can do to help their situation is to comment and cooperate.”  
Iris was close to the door, sliding into her jacket and adjusting her hair.  
“Well, it’s because I’m passionate,” Iris said. Julie nodded, twirling a red pen in her hand. “If this lunch goes well, I can finish my story and after your edits, the _Central City Citizen_ could have … it’s biggest story of the year!”  
“THE biggest story of the year, Bawse Lady!” Iris loved how Julie pronounced ‘boss’ like the Lip Bar color shade.  
Iris’ car pulled up to The Leaf just after she smoothed on the lipstick and zipped it into her makeup bag. Theresa Merkel was already seated and what looked like a Scotch neat in front of her. She looked as elegant as ever, even more so in a tailored sheath dress with cap sleeves and brass zipper details. Theresa smiled as Iris sat down and shook her hand. Iris and Theresa had fallen into a pattern of short pleasantries, not because they didn’t like each other, but because the growing regard between them made dispensable chat about the weather, the restaurant and their “busy” schedules unnecessary. Both preferred to get to things that interested them, and they had several interests in common. They got to talking about literature, and Iris mentioned that Francine was bringing a copy of _To Abbie_ back from Montreal.  
“It’s the letters of Azariah, a runaway carriage builder from a Virginia plantation to his wife Abbie, after they were separated …”  
“On the underground railroad, yes,” Theresa said. “She made her way to Prince Edward Island and he, to an outpost of Toronto,” Theresa said, sipping her drink. “I’ve heard of that epic story. Love conquers all. When the author’s book tour comes to the states next week, we plan to host a private event off the list of tour stops.”  
Iris’ mind salivated at the thought of meeting the author and listening to her discuss her research and do a reading. But a ticket to a private event like that was almost like money itself, and journalists cannot accept such extravagant gifts from sources. Mason Bragg taught her that.  
“Well, Mrs. Merkel, I actually wanted to talk to you, on the record, about some things I’ve learned about the new pediatric wing,” Iris said, after the waiter took their orders. It would be a roasted chicken and polenta with mixed green salad for Theresa Merkel. A chicken salad for Iris.  
“Actually, Mrs. Allen, I called you here,” Theresa said, her tone both arched and bemused.  
“Yes, that’s right,” Iris said, reorienting herself. “Your assistant left me a couple of messages. What can I help you with?”  
“We want to invest. In the _The Central City Citizen_ ,” Theresa said. “My holding company, Vai Holdings, has room in its portfolio for digital media. It’s the kind of slot that could be filled by a bold storyteller. A brand that can have a presence on more than one platform.”  
Iris was almost overwhelmed as Theresa Merkel spoke. An investment could give the _Citizen_ the capital it needed to expand the reporting staff, pay Julie what she was really worth as a features writer and copyeditor, and add another freelance photographer for spot news. With enough capital, Iris could start hunting for permanent office space that suited the _Citizen_. She would love a travel budget to send reporters to other locations in Missouri on assignment, or even Gotham City, for conferences. Not to mention a locking door to have private calls with Barry or whoever else.  
But would having an investor – possibly owner – dampen the enterprising stories she and Julie wanted to do? The timing for such an offer couldn’t be more awkward, with the story about the hospital wing almost ready to run.  
“Mrs. Merkel, that offer sounds incredible,” Iris said. “But before I say anything, I need to ask you some questions about the new pediatric wing at the hospital.”  
Iris set up her question by explaining her visit earlier the previous day. Theresa was surprised that she got so much access.  
“I know you cannot tell me who gave you such a guided tour, especially of a new place --“  
“I didn’t interact with any patients at all, Mrs. Merkel,” Iris said. “Their confidentiality is in place. I … did speak with one parent, though.”  
“Mrs. Allen, that is something else entirely!” Theresa talked for some minutes about the strict need to protect the identities of all the patients and their families. “We have confidentiality agreements with all the staff. And the parents have brought their children there on the express understanding that we could help them and keep their situations private. But … your story could undermine our reputation for confidentiality before it even gets off the ground properly!”  
“Oh, I see it from another angle, Mrs. Merkel,” Iris said. “Of course I respect the parents’ wishes. But I also think one of the best ways to protect people is to inform them.” Iris paused as Theresa Merkel pressed her lids closed and wagged her head.  
“I have already gotten confirmation from documents and sources about what the specialized thermometers, the scanning beds, and all those _chemicals_ are used for,” Iris said. “What I’d like to know is how many kids are being seen there, and why. Are they being experimented on?”  
Theresa Merkel was not in the mood to be forthcoming, and gave nothing away that was not in documents Iris had already read, highlighted, noted and tagged. ‘As you can tell,’ and ‘you can make your interpretations’ and ‘well, the documentation is there,’ dominated her answers. She answered – such as it was – the last of Iris’ questions as the waiter delivered their food.  
Their conversation was much more muted as they ate. No eye contact or conversation about literature or travel. They chewed politely, seeming more like a mother and daughter who just had a squabble. Iris knew that Theresa Merkel sometimes needed a minute before she answered frankly, and she hoped that as her salad dwindled and Theresa picked at her duck with polenta, Theresa would talk. Eventually, she did, but was terse.  
“At no time do we carry out any procedures on the children out of pure scientific curiosity,” Theresa said, dropping her silver fork on her plate loudly and sipping her water. “We accommodate, as best we can, what the parent ask us to do and what is within out ability.”  
“But how do you know what is within your ability unless you test –”  
“Mrs. Allen, we will not experiment on children, ever,” Theresa emphasized. “We’ve gone through great pains to make that clear to certain parties with an interest in our unit.”  
Their server stepped up to them quietly and slid a check portfolio at Theresa Merkel’s side. She signed with her left hand.  
“A leftie,” Iris said. “Some of my favorite people, like President Obama, musicians …” Theresa Merkel looked up wryly and scooped her wallet into her green crocodile skin Brahmin.  
“Mrs. Allen, I invited you here to make an offer, and to get you to think about the future of _The Central City Citizen_ ,” Theresa then laced her fingers together. “Your story might make a huge splash. It might even shake up some in the community you say you are trying to serve. But would it be worth scaring away the people we want to help? Or what would it mean to have an office of your own, more reporters and editors and not having to think quarter to quarter?”  
There it was. Another reference to Iris’ poverty relative to the Merkel fortune, earned from Vai Holdings, present on a zillion boards and supporting the foundation.  
“I’ve been there, as an entrepreneur,” Theresa said. “At a certain point – early on – I had to mentally get off the daily treadmill and commit to the vision.”  
Iris breathed deeply. It was a lot to think about. But the important thing, at least for now, is that she got confirmation from two inside sources, visiting doctors, documents and a parent. Enough people cared to help her get the story out. Knowing that helped her to stand up along with Theresa Merkel, who was several inches taller in heels.  
“I am thinking about the _Citizen_ ’s future, Mrs. Merkel,” Iris said. “And the people of this city. This isn’t just about me and my story.”  
Iris left ahead of Theresa Merkel, who remained civil, and saw her into her own car back to the _Citizen_ ’s co-working offices. When the car pulled up and parked, Iris looked up at the set of windows on the fourth floor that was “theirs.” Ad revenue was solid for the next nine months, for sure. They could make rent, pay salaries and other costs of doing business. But would that be any way to live – quarter to quarter? And didn’t she have a responsibility to Julie, the freelancers and the ad sales rep to run a stable company? She wanted the _Citizen_ to grow and expand, and capital from a financial powerhouse like Vai Holdings would help her do that.  
As she pulled open the car door and got out of the car, Iris hoped she made the right choice.  
“I made the right choice, didn’t I, Barry?” Iris asked Barry when he called her to ask how the lunch with Theresa Merkel went.  
“Of course you did, Iris,” Barry said. “You’re building something awesome and you’re doing it with a vision that’s all your own. You know what’s best for the _Citizen_ , not some Jack and Jane capitalist.”  
Iris laughed at Barry’s Black high-society reference.  
“I know, but Barry,” Iris said. “She made some pretty good points about doing business with a vision. I don’t want the _Citizen_ to flop and fail early and not carry out its mission.”  
“That’s it right there!” Barry said. “What you do is important, and you know the best way to do that. Don’t make any deals you aren’t comfortable with. You’ll find a way, I believe in you.”  
“Okay,” Iris smiled a little and sat up straight. “Well, I’ve got one last push to make to wrap this up. I need to finish this story so that Julie can edit it for tomorrow.”  
“That’s more like it,” Barry said. “Go be fabulous!”  
“Thanks, Barry.”  
Iris set to work through the night. Julie edited stories in the queue and waited for Iris as long as she could. At 8 p.m., however, Julie had to call it quits.  
“Iris. Iris? Iris!” she called. The last time startled Iris, and she looked up from he stack of papers. “I see that you’re deep into this story.”  
“Yeah, Julie,” Iris said. “I’m sorry. I’ve got about another hour or so on this. You should go! I’ll send you the final, fact-checked, proofread draft and you can edit it in the morning, OK?”  
“Alright,” Julie said. “Well, we have a bunch of stories ready for tomorrow. I sent an art concept to Steven, so he could come up with something hot. Something to grab people.”  
“Julie you are a lifesaver, because I forgot to follow up on that,” Iris said, and stood up to hug Julie goodbye. “Get some rest! I’ll have a lot of reading for you in the morning.”

Iris reached to call and order dinner when she heard a whoosh in the hallway. Barry. He knocked softly at the door and when she opened it, was startled. Two speedsters! Nora and Barry held up a back of takeout from her favorite Thai place and set her up at the bistro table. They chatted with her during dinner break and let her get back to work while they read quietly. She could have worked from home, but all of her notes and papers were here, and she didn’t want to waste the time packing up, driving and unpacking again. Having them there and being fed energized her, until at 11 p.m., she hit save for good measure and smacked her palms down on the table.  
“Done!” She breathed. “It’s in the editing queue for Julie tomorrow. I’ve done what I can.”  
“Alright!” Barry came over to Iris’ desk and gave her a celebratory kiss. “So glad. It’s going to be amazing. You’ve worked hard.”  
Iris peeked over at Nora, whose petite frame was tucked into the size of the sofa, her back to the open room. Speedsters burned a lot of energy and when they quieted the Speedforce to get sleep, they crashed out. 

Barry reached his hand out and pulled Iris up to her feet dance. He led her outside of the office to one of the seating areas in the common spaces, and opened up a song on his phone. He led her in a slow dance around the room for a few minutes, his mp3 playing one of their favorites, while she rested her head on his chest.  
“It’s been a long day for all of us,” Iris said.  
Barry nodded and explained that Nora took a little persuading before she gave the story a chance.  
“I told her she needed to trust you and not the noise around us about what people think metas are,” Barry said. “This story could change that Iris, and it’s a huge deal for all of us.”  
Then he kissed her quietly, softly as a street light shone in from one of the windows and framed their silhouettes.  
Alone in the office, Nora was awake and bit her lower lip sadly. She was remembering events that were history to her, but that her parents had no idea would unfold yet.


End file.
